Work Text:
When Stan and Ford were children, Stan had been comfortable with his body in the way that most children are. They had changed in front of each other without a thought, and Stan had even occasionally taken his shirt off at the beach (especially to use as a makeshift flag on the Stan O' War).
As they had gotten older, though, the twins had started to notice the ways in which their bodies began to differ. Stan was broader and stronger, yes, but he also put on weight easier. A generous layer of fat clung stubbornly to the muscles of his pecs and stomach no matter how much boxing he did. Ford recalled Stan having to take off his shirt for matches and pinching at his belly in the mirror with a frown.
Ford hadn't thought about that in years. If he had, he would have assumed it was standard teenage insecurity and that Stan had grown accustomed to the changes in his body since then. After all, even he had been uncomfortable with the new shape and functions of his body as a teen.
Except, as Stan stepped out of the bathroom of the Stan O' War II in his swimsuit—a one piece swimsuit—Ford realized all at once that he hadn't seen his brother's bare chest since they were teenagers, despite living together for months. He blinked as this thought processed.
No, it had to be a coincidence. His brother was so confident, so brash and unapologetically himself, that it was impossible to think. Still, there was one issue that needed to be addressed.
"What are you wearing?" His own question echoed back at him.
Stan looked at him in outraged confusion. "The hell do you mean 'what are you wearing?' I'm not the one in a Speedo and trench coat! Sweet Moses, Sixer, are you tryin' to look like a creepy old pervert?"
Ford felt his cheeks heat. The sales associate had assured him that this style was very popular. Of course, that had been in the 1970s. Did he really look like a pervert?
"Well, you look like you're wearing some sort of trash bag!" He could tell that his cheeks were puffing up in annoyance, but he couldn't stop it. "Are you going to the beach or doing court-mandated community service work?"
"Hey," Stan shouted, "I'll have you know that's an entirely different outfit!" He shook his head and let out a small laugh. "Well, whaddaya think, Poindexter? Should we go get new suits or risk getting arrested for public indecency?"
Ford rolled his eyes, but a smile played at the corner of his lips. "As long as you don't try to match with me."
-
By the time they had checked out at the (exorbitantly overpriced) beach-side shop with their newly acquired—and definitely appropriate, according to the clerk—swim trunks, the sun was already high in the sky and the midday heat was nearly overwhelming. Ford stood in the shade of a large umbrella, applying sunblock and waiting for his brother to emerge from the changing room.
When Stan finally stepped out, Ford's brow furrowed. Stanley was wearing the swim trunks, yes, but he was also wearing a white t-shirt with a neon pink smiling cartoon fish plastered across the front. It was a shirt that Ford had never seen his brother wear before, and that they certainly hadn't purchased at the shop.
"Where did you get that?"
Stan glanced at him from the side of his eyes. "What are you, a cop?" He held his hand out for the sunblock. "Here. I'll get your back."
Obediently, Ford turned around. In the next moment, he felt his brother's large hands rubbing the cool lotion into his sun-warmed skin. The contrast in temperature made him shiver a bit. Stan's hands brushed against the sides of his waist and a jolt went through him. With a grimace, Ford attempted to calm his racing heart. This was another thing that he thought had been left in the past.
Stan squeezed his shoulders to signal that he was finished with his task and Ford turned back around to face him. If anyone were to ask, Ford would tell them that his face was not flushed; it was simply very hot outside.
He watched as his brother roughly lathered the lotion into the skin of his own face. Ford frowned as he began to apply the sunblock around the edges of the t-shirt, not reaching the skin underneath.
"You'll need to get your torso and back, as well." Stan glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, so Ford continued, "Since your shirt is white, it will become translucent when wet and the sun will be able to burn you through it."
Stan looked down at his shirt, tugging thoughtfully at the hem. "Maybe I just won't swim."
Ford gaped. "Stanley. You've been excited for this for weeks. You just bought swim trunks. With real money!" Stan grumbled something under his breath. "Come on. If you're uncomfortable, we can go back in the changing room for this, and then you can put your shirt back on."
Stan looked at him with consideration. For a moment, it looked as though Stan was going to object to even this suggestion.
"Come on, Stanley. It's just me."
This caused Stan to grimace for some reason, but he finally nodded and shuffled his way back into the changing room with Ford in tow.
Once inside, Stan quickly faced away from his brother and shucked his shirt. He squirted a glob of sunblock in his own hand and passed the bottle back to Ford, avoiding eye contact.
Ford's first thought was that Stan was even hairier than he expected. As he rubbed the lotion into his pronounced shoulders, Ford couldn't help but run his fingers lightly through the hair there in fascination. Not that he wasn't fairly hairy in his own right, but it was different when it was Stan.
His hands sank lower, over the firm planes of Stan's scapulae and the strong trapezius muscles that partially covered them. He traced down the vertebrae of the spine and then fanned his hands out to feel the muscles of the latissimus dorsi.
Since puberty, Stan had been bigger and broader and stronger than him, and now he was feeling the evidence of that beneath his hands. He found himself yearning to map out the entirety of Stan's body this way so he could catalog their every difference.
"You 'bout done?"
Stan's gruff voice pulled him from his reverie.
"Ah," Ford cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm done."
Stan reached for his shirt to put it back on, but appeared to find some resistance as he pulled it back up from where he had tossed it.
"The hell?"
Ford glanced over Stan's shoulder at the mumbled question and saw that the shirt had found its way into a congealed puddle of some sort of sticky substance (perhaps melted ice cream?), and was now stained with a large, dark brown blotch across the stomach. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Well, I suppose that's what you get for shoplifting it." Ford sighed. "Give it here. I'll put it in our bag and we can wash it later."
"No!" Stan clutched the shirt to his chest. "I can still wear it."
"You can't be serious."
His face said that he was.
"Stan, that's disgusting. Who even knows what that is. You already put on sunblock anyway, just go without a shirt for today."
An unreadable expression crossed his brother's face. "Actually, give me my regular shirt back from the bag." Stan crossed his arms over his chest, dirty shirt still pressed against him. "I'll just wear that and deal with it later."
"Are you planning on getting in the rental car with your wet, smelly shirt on?" Ford rolled his eyes. "Why are you making this such a big deal?"
"Geez, Sixer, maybe because not all of us spent the last 30 years getting in shape. Some of us actually look like the gross old men we are."
For a moment, Ford wasn't certain how to respond. Ford's brain stuttered over the implication that Stan thought his body looked good. A certain lightness ran through him at the idea, but he quickly batted it away. Stan was only comparing Ford's physique to his own and using it to find himself inadequate, not truly finding Ford attractive. This was not the time to get hung up on his own selfish desires.
"I haven't known you to care overly much what others think of you." Ford put a hand on his shoulder. Though he felt Stan tense up beneath him, he continued, "Why are you letting this get in the way of enjoying one of your favorite activities?"
"I-" Stan's face contorted. "I guess you're right. I ain't got anyone to impress."
Sighing, Stan shoved the dirty shirt at his brother and barreled his way out of the changing room. Ford followed close behind, rolling up the soiled shirt to tuck safely away into their beach bag.
Stan marched determinedly all the way to an open spot on the beach. Upon arriving, he finally turned around and gestured to the area, not meeting Ford's eyes. "This work?"
Ford was grateful Stan was looking away, because the first glimpse of his brother's bare chest caught him so thoroughly off guard that he was unable to pry his eyes away.
He knew, of course, that his brother was… hefty, for lack of a better term. His clothing, despite the girdle he sometimes wore, did little to hide his general girth. But he hadn't seen his true form. Even the tank tops he wore as pajamas were baggy enough to be fairly adept at hiding his exact shape. For some reason, though, Ford had never connected the dots that the paunch of his brother's stomach would extend up to (what he now knew to be) his ample chest.
Stanley's chest was broad and muscular, covered in a delicious coating of hair that had Ford itching to card his fingers through it. More than anything, though, Ford's eyes were locked on the two voluptuous breasts, topped with pert pink nipples, that swelled and spilled beautifully over top of brother's abdomen. The sheen of sunblock and sweat glinted off of them in the bright sunlight, making Ford's mind flood with fantasies of them slick with other fluids—his saliva, his semen—instead.
Ford swallowed hard, forcing his eyes back to his brother's face. "Yes. It's perfect."
-
The rest of the day at the beach was, for Ford, partially like living in a nostalgic daydream and partially like experiencing a divine punishment.
On one hand, once Stanley had gotten in the water, he had mostly grown accustomed to being without a shirt and they had spent the day relaxing and chatting and goofing off while surrounded by the loving embrace of the water as they had so many times as children. It was a difference beach, but the pull of the tides and the scent of the sea and the squish of the sand between his toes all seemed the same to Ford.
On the other hand, Stan's tits were a constant torment. In the midst of conversation, Ford would catch his eyes and thoughts drifting to their gentle peaks. Certainly, Stanley had noticed his preoccupation. He must have. Occasionally, Stan had trailed off mid-sentence, crossing his arms protectively over his chest until Ford made eye contact once again. Ford had blushed bright red, but continued on as though nothing had happened.
By the time the day had finally wound to a close and they had wound their way lazily back to the changing rooms, Ford had been both grateful and sorrowful to see Stan emerge with a baggy shirt on once again.
The short drive back to the docks was filled with silence. It wasn't too unusual; a day spent in the heat of the sun and the gentle lull of the waves was enough to drain the energy out of even a young person. However, this silence was heavy.
Ford glanced over at Stan occasionally, still expecting him to start chattering away as he normally did while driving, but he just stared straight ahead blankly.
They arrived back at the boat, still blanketed in silence, and Ford knew he needed to ask. "Is everything alright?"
Stan jumped a bit, turning to face Ford. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be?" His voice was gruff and defensive.
Ford frowned. "You've been a bit spaced out since we left the beach."
"I was just thinkin'. That a crime? You the only one allowed to do that around here or somethin'?"
He hummed, watching as Stan loading their beach clothing and towels into the washer. The dirty shirt that he had stolen to wear as a swim shirt was tossed in with a bit more aggression than was warranted. "Anything I can help with?"
"Actually, yeah." Stan didn't turn around, even though he appeared to be done loading the laundry into the washing machine. "You didn't happen to keep any of those, uh, fake food pill things after I told you to throw 'em out, did ya?"
He blinked. "My nutrient pills?" Why in the world had Stan been thinking of those? "I have some in our emergency supplies," he said hesitantly. "Why?"
Stan fiddled with the dials on the washer. Ford didn't think those settings had ever been changed the entire time they'd been on the boat. "I was thinkin' I could start, ya know, takin' them."
"What?" Stan wanting to actually take the pills himself might have been the least likely reason Ford could think of for Stan to want them. "But you hate those things. You made me throw them out! You told me there was no point in being alive if food was obsolete."
Stan tried to hide a flinch, but Ford saw it. "Well, maybe I changed my mind."
"That doesn't sound like you."
He heaved a sigh. "I just… figured I should lose some weight is all." Ford stared at his back in horror as the puzzle pieces of the day all clicked together. Stan finally pressed the button to start the machine and turned to face his brother. "I've known for a while that I'm fat, but seein' you all-" Stan gestured to his body- "really made it hit home that I really let myself go. Figured I should do somethin' about it so I'm not so embarrassing to be seen with." Stan let out a little laugh, like that was a joke of some sort.
Ford did not find it funny. "You are not embarrassing to be seen with, nor do you need to lose weight. We have different body types, but that does not mean that yours is wrong." He bit his tongue from saying more; there was so much he wanted to say about Stan's body.
Stan scoffed. "Please. I saw you today. You couldn't stop staring at my stupid, gross man boobs!"
"That-" Ford's breath caught in his throat. He could feel his heart beat pick up as blood rushed to his face. "It wasn't like that."
"Oh yeah? Then what was it like?"
Stan's tone made it clear he didn't believe him, that he genuinely thought Ford found his body disgusting. As much as Ford didn't want to admit to the reality of his feelings, he couldn't stand to let his brother think he could ever be truly disgusted with him. "I was- that is to say- Well, first, I must apologize for staring. I certainly didn't intend to make you think something was wrong with you or make you uncomfortable. You must know, I would never-"
"Spit it out, Sixer."
"I find you attractive."
The sound of the washing machine gently spinning their clothing around might as well have been a hurricane in that moment.
"Uh." Ford could see a light flush creeping onto his brother's face. "Geez, that might be the weirdest lie someone's ever told me to make me feel better." Stan laughed awkwardly and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I, uh, appreciate the gesture, though."
An indignant anger coursed through him at the accusation. "I'm not lying!" His shout was so loud, so passionate, that it caused Stan to jump. "I… Stan, truthfully, I've been attracted to you since I was old enough to know what attraction was, but seeing you today was… Well, you said it yourself. I couldn't take my eyes off of you."
He could hear the hitch in Stan's breath, though he couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.
"Let me see if I've got this right." Stan pushed off of where he was leaning against the washer and moved closer to Ford. "All day, while I was over here thinkin' you thought I was a gross, flabby old man, you were… what? Starin' at your crush? Fantasizin' about gettin' a piece of this?"
Ford looked up, face aflame, to see Stanley cupping his breasts through his shirt. He couldn't help it—his eyes locked on to the cleavage that peeked over the collar of the shirt instantly.
Stan chuckled, though surprise was evident in his voice as he said, "Wow. Ya really do like 'em."
"Stanley, I- I'm so sorry-"
"Why?" Ford's thoughts ground to a halt. "I've been fantasizin' about you just as long, Poindexter."
His mouth went dry. Of all of the fantasies in which Ford had allowed himself to indulge over the years, this one—the one where Stanley actually wanted him back—had always felt the most out of reach. And yet here it was, happening.
Stanley was standing in front of him, inches away, telling him that he felt the same way. In fact, he had always felt the same way. And Ford couldn't stand it.
With a rush of sudden confidence, Ford surged forwards and captured his lips in a bruising kiss. It was clumsy and a little bit painful and completely perfect.
Stan laughed as he pulled away, then reached up and cupped Ford's jaw, adjusting their angle and licking at his lips. And that kiss was perfect, too.
A deep moan left Stan's throat as they backed up into the wall behind Ford. "Wanted this for so long," he whispered.
"Me too, me too." While Stan kissed at his neck, Ford found his hands wandering to Stan's chest.
His fingers kneaded at the supple flesh of his brother's tits, admiring the way they filled his hands so perfectly. He could feel the sensitive peaks beginning to harden under his attention, and he rubbed gently across them to feel the way they reacted to his touch.
Ford could feel Stan smile mischievously against his neck. It was all the warning he got before Stan pulled back slightly and said, "Ya wanna fuck them?"
"Fuck, please."
With a smirk, Stan grabbed his hand and pulled him to their shared bedroom. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Ford's hands were tugging Stan's shirt up and over his head. The sight of those full breasts on display was even more glorious now that they were on display for him—or, better yet, now that he was free to touch.
Ford leaned forward and sucked the peak of the right breast into his mouth as he cupped the left. They had both rinsed off before changing out of their swimwear, of course, but Ford could still taste the salt of the ocean on his brother's skin. It tasted right.
His tongue traced the small circle of Stan's nipple before biting softly at the hardened nub. Stan groaned at the sensation, and Ford felt his cock throb. What other noises could he draw from his brother just by playing with his tits?
He licked his way across his brother's chest to the other breast, pressing small kisses and sucking marks as he went. Already, small patches of dark red hickies were starting to blossom across the flesh, and Ford couldn't help the possessive pride that ignited within him at the sight. When he finally captured the other nipple, he flicked his tongue against it quickly and consistently, relishing in the way Stan arched and pressed closer into his mouth as he did so.
"Damn," Stan drawled out, voice even raspier than usual, "fuckin' mouth feels so good. Gonna have to put it to good use later."
Ford let out a moan around the tit in his mouth at the suggestion. To be used for Stan's pleasure would be a privilege.
Stanley grabbed his hair and tugged him back, forcing him to release his breast with an obscene pop sound. "But first, let's take care of you." Reaching around Ford to his bed, Stan grabbed a pillow a placed it on the floor in front of them. "Knees aren't what they used to be," he said with a wry smile.
Stan shucked his shorts and boxers in one smooth move, tossing them to the floor, and then lowered himself onto the pillow so that he was kneeling before Ford.
For a moment, all Ford could do was stare down at him. He was so beautiful.
"Well?" Stan reached up and cupped his tits, squeezing them together in a way that made Ford's mouth water. "Are you gonna take off your clothes, or did I get on the floor for nothin'?"
Ford wasn't sure he'd ever disrobed faster.
As soon as his boxers were off, Stan's hands grabbed his hips and pulled him close.
Ford's cock, already hard, twitched upwards against his stomach as Stan winked up at him. Then, without warning, Stan licked up the entirety of his length.
He jolted. "Stan!"
"What?" Stan chuckled. "I gotta get it nice and wet, don't I?"
Ford swallowed hard as Stan's warm mouth encircled the head. He could feel sensitive tip pressing up against the soft palate while Stan's tongue laved gently over the underside. Moses, he wanted so badly to thrust into that wet heat, but he had to have patience.
Slowly, nearly painfully so, Stan took him further into his mouth until he could feel himself sliding down his brother's throat. Stan's nose pressed into the thick thatch of pubic hair at the base of his dick, drool leaking out from the corners of his mouth.
Looking down at Stan, kneeling before him and completely full of his cock, Ford knew he could have stayed like that forever. Luckily, Stanley was the one to pull away.
Carefully, he eased back, releasing Ford's cock completely. Stan's lips were wet and red as he said, "That oughta work."
Sitting up straighter so his chest was level with Ford's hips, Stan reached up to his breasts. The spit-shiny tits were blotched with Ford's swiftly-darkening hickies. Stan pressed them up and together once more, grinning up at Ford.
"You ready?"
In answer, Ford grabbed the base of his cock, angling it to thread it through the channel Stan had created.
The firmness of Stan's sternum pressing against his cock contrasted perfectly with the plushness of the soft, hairy tits surrounding him. The feeling was pleasant, but the best part—by far—was the view.
Stan naked and kneeling before him, fondling his gorgeous tits as Ford fucked them, was possibly the most titillating sight he'd ever seen. The head of his cock poked out the top of Stan's cleavage, leaking precome down onto their rounded tops any time he paused his thrusting.
When Ford noticed Stan's hands moving slightly, he thought at first that he was simply readjusting his grip. Looking more closely, however, revealed that the motion was more rhythmic. No, he wasn't readjusting. Stanley was playing with his nipples.
Ford moaned, speeding up his thrusts as he watched his little brother pinch and pull at the hardened peaks. "Stanley, Stanley." It was an incantation—a prayer.
"That's right," Stan rasped, peaking up at him. "Come for me, Ford."
Stanley stuck his tongue out, allowing Ford's cock to rub against it each time it appeared out of his cleavage, and Ford was gone.
His orgasm crashed over him like the waves of the ocean, pulling him under with its force.
Come spilled from the head of his cock and out onto Stan's tits, covering the markings he had left earlier with a new kind of claim. Most of it gathered in the space between his breasts, but some caught on the hair at the top of his chest and pooled there. A bit had even landed on Stan's tongue and jaw before he had managed to pull back. Ford might have felt bad about that if he wasn't busy feeling so good.
"Beautiful." The word was out of his mouth before he was fully cognizant of it. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. Stanley was beautiful.
Stan laughed, shaking his head. "Guess this means you don't want me to lose the weight?"
"Please don't." Ford paused. "Unless, of course, you really want to, in which case I'll support your decision-"
"Relax. I'll stay fat. Just for you." Stan shoved his hip playfully. "Now help me up. My legs are fallin' asleep and I need to take a shower before this shit crusts."
Ford reached down, noting his brother's still-hard cock as he helped him to his feet. "I don't suppose you'd like company?"
Stan looked surprised for a moment before smiling. "Yeah? You gonna clean me up, Sixer?"
"Well, it's only fair," Ford said, leaning forward to lick a stripe of his come from his brother's jaw. "Since I'm the one who got you dirty, after all."